The Last Goodbye
by Katie Coleman
Summary: One brother must live on without the other...


Alright, so I had to get this one out of my system before I began to write 'Along for the Ride' Chapter Four. I hope it's okay, I know this idea has been attempted several (thousand) times, but it's been in my head for a while and I wanted to give it a go.

The story is set during Devil's Trap, and then again sometime after IMTOD. The general idea is that the in DT when Dean is attacked by the demon (ripped apart etcetera) that it has changed, and Sam has fallen victim to the demon's assault. So the brother's have swapped roles for that night. Anyway, I hope it makes sense. Just think second to last scene in DT.

As usual, reviews appreciated so thanks in advance! If it's good enough, and people like it, then I have a two week holiday ahead of me where a sequel might just be created. If it's good enough.

So, on with the show…

Disclaimer: as per usual, I do not own anything to do with, nor am I to be associated with 'Supernatural', its company, crew or cast members. No profit has been made out of this story other than the comforting thought that it's now finished.

Rating: PG

Warnings: Character Death, Alternate Reality to Devil's Trap, therefore spoilers of aforementioned episode.

"**The Last Goodbye" **

Pinned against the cold hotel room wall, Dean could do nothing but watch as blood poured out of the gaping wounds on his brother's chest, methodically forced there by the stern gaze of none other than the Yellow Eyed demon himself.

He stared on, quaking as Sam's constant struggle for air grew increasingly difficult, and the voice of his father spoke in the harsh tongue that only the hunter would understand fully, and his eyes blazed their infamous yellow as he grinned. "He never loved you, never _needed_ you. Not like you need him."

As suddenly as it had began, the force pressing Dean's body against the wall fell, causing him to stumble forwards, wincing at the sound of Sam falling to the floor, bloodied and unconscious.

Dean raced to his brother's side, shook him, screamed his name, but received no response.

He called a little louder, shook a little harder, but still Sam did not wake. Panic stricken, Dean rushed across the small room to the place in which his father had fallen.

"Sammy…" John muttered.

Dean shook his head and sniffed, "It's me, Dean."

"Get Sam, Dean." John insisted, groaning in pain. "It's in me, I can feel it. I can't hold on much longer, son. Get Sam, he can do this."

Again, Dean shook his head. "I… I can't wake him up!" he stuttered, shaking.

The slight mumble came unexpectedly from the side of the cramped room, "J-jess, Dean…"

He span around, his eyes again met with things he had only seen in his worst nightmare; blood, gore, and in the middle of all of that, his baby brother.

"Sam!" He half-screamed again, gasping as he crashed to his brother's side. "Sam! Come on, dude! Wake up!"

Receiving no answer, he reached his hand over to gently touch Sam's chest, in order to detect the amount of breath intake. Minutes, hours, seconds, months, decades passed before he felt anything; a slight murmur in his brother's lungs before a final gasp for air. And then nothing.

Cradling Sammy's head in his lap, Dean began to sob softly over his brother's broken body…

Standing beside his Sam's graveside in Palo Alto, shaking with emotions, Dean began to wonder what might have been, had he not glanced down at his frozen watch in that instant, and had not arrived in enough time to pull Sam from the grizzly fire that took his the love of his brother's life.

He would have died with her, Dean thought miserably as he placed a small bunch of wilted flowers on the grave. He choked back tears as he spared a glance towards the headstone next to Sammy's; Jessica Lee More. He had at least gotten his dying wish, 'to be buried next to Jess'. That much Dean had owed him.

Dean's work boots sank into the moist soil, leaving gritty footprints as he took a step closer to Sam's own headstone to read the inscription on it; 'Samuel Winchester, son to John and Mary, beloved brother of Dean, loving fiancé of Jessica.'

In the months following their encounter with the Big Bad, John had reluctantly agreed to 'up' Jessica's status from 'girlfriend' to 'loving fiancé', for Dean's peace of mind, or so he had said. Dean reached out to touch his brother's head stone, his hand recoiling tensely as his skin came into contact with the cold grey stone, and sighed.

Memories, images of his brother before his death, began to push back into the front of his mind. Sam had been yelling. He was angry at Dean for something he had said about Jessica. That was right, he remembered now. He had told Sam that Jessica was dead, and nothing was going to bring her back, not sacrificing himself for the demon, nothing. After that remark, Sam had retreated into his usual angsty self, before he decided to 'have it out' with Dean.

"_Mom, Jess, they're gone, and nothing's going to bring them back, Sam." _

"_Don't you say that! Not after all of this!"_

That was the last time he had spoken to him. The last words Dean had spoken to his brother had been 'Shut the hell up, I don't care anymore!' Guilt panged at his heart as he thought of his brother's reaction to that comment; tears. Sam had been on the verge of god damn freaking tears, and Dean had done nothing about it. He'd never made amends, and then Sam had gone and gotten himself killed.

So the Big Bad had gotten exactly what he'd wanted, been waiting for, for twenty three years. And Dean had lost it all, everything he'd been clinging on to, protecting, for the same amount of time, and it had nearly killed him, too. But he'd had to soldier on, kill a few more clowns, a few more wendigoes, whatever it took to keep the gun in his hands warm. But nothing would bring Sam back, and no amount of saving lives could change that.

With another shaky intake of breath, Dean turned his back on the grave, on his brother, just as he had done the night of Sam's death, and left.

Closing his eyes as he walked back to the car, he choked back the heart break and emotions that were gaining on him, threatening him with tears that he could not control. One long sniff and he opened his eyes again. The world was blurred with tears, but in the distance, he could make out a fuzzy, all-to-familiar figure standing near his car, dressed in his favourite grey hoodie, messy brown hair combed down with rain. Dean scrubbed a palm across his eyes roughly, clearing his vision, and opened them again. The figure had not moved.

"Sam…?" he whispered, his voice low and scratchy. He picked up his pace as he neared the dirty-black Impala. "Sam? Sammy!" Despite himself, he cracked a grin and raced towards the young man leaning against the car's trunk in the warm mid-afternoon sun.

"Hey, dude, what's the rush?" Sam replied, straightening up as his elder brother jogged towards him, then frowned at Dean's too-pale complexion. "Dude, you seriously need a tan. I mean, look at yourself!" He chuckled.

Dean looked at his brother in sheer bewilderment. "Sammy? What're you… what are doing here?" He asked, eyes darting back and forth between where his brother stood, and where he had been visiting his grave only minutes earlier.

Sam grinned down at his elder, but somewhat shorter, brother. "Visiting you, of course!"

Dean's face fell, his brow crumpled in confusion. "… Visiting?"

Sam shrugged and nodded, "Yeah. Sorry, man, only here for a while. But I came to tell you…" He paused for a moment, unsure of what to say. "I came to tell you that I'm okay, you don't need to worry about me. And that I love you."

Dean's bottom lip quivered, his eyes brimming with tears again. "Sammy… please…" He begged.

Sam shrugged, resting a hand on Dean's shoulder. "I'm sorry, I have to. But I'll be watching out for you, bro. I've got your back." He told Dean, still smiling.

Dean lowered his gaze to the ground below his feet, refusing to cry in front of Sammy. "I love you too," he murmured.

Slowly, he looked up again slowly, but instead of finding the comforting presence of his brother, he discovered that he was standing on the outskirts of the graveyard, beside his dusty old car, alone.


End file.
